._ Mashter! Is she calling a woman?

_Courtier._ Why, of course.

_Sansthanaka._ Women! I kill hundreds of 'em. I'm a brave man.

_Vasantasena._ [_Seeing that no one answers._] Alas, how comes it that
my very servants have fallen away from me? I shall have to defend
myself by mother-wit.

_Courtier._ Don't stop the search.

_Sansthanaka._ Shqueal, Vasantasena, shqueal for your cuckoo
Parabhritika, or for your blosshom Pallavaka or for all the month of
May! Who's going to save you when I'm chasing you?

Why shpeak of Bhimasena? Or the shon
Of Jamadagni, that thrice-mighty one?
The ten-necked ogre? Shon of Kunti fair?
Jusht look at me! My fingers in your hair,
Jusht like Duhshasana, I'll tear, and tear. 29

Look, look!

My shword is sharp; good-by, poor head!
Let's chop it off, or kill you dead.
Then do not try my wrath to shun;
When you musht die, your life is done. 30

_Vasantasena._ Sir, I am a weak woman.

_Courtier._ That is why you are still alive.

_Sansthanaka._ That is why you're not murdered.

_Vasantasena._ [_Aside._] Oh! his very courtesy frightens me. Come,
I will try this. [_Aloud._] Sir, what do you expect from this pursuit?
my jewels?

P. 24.7]

_Courtier._ Heaven forbid! A garden creeper, mistress Vasantasena,
should not be robbed of its blossoms. Say no more about the jewels.

_Vasantasena._ What is then your desire?

_Sansthanaka._ I'm a man, a big man, a regular Vasudeva.[34] You
musht love me.

_Vasantasena._ [_Indignantly._] Heavens! You weary me. Come, leave
me! Your words are an insult.

_Sansthanaka._ [_Laughing and clapping his hands._] Look, mashter,
look! The courtezan's daughter is mighty affectionate with me,
isn't she? Here she says "Come on! Heavens, you're weary. You're
tired!" No, I haven't been walking to another village or another
city. No, little mishtress, I shwear by the gentleman's head, I
shwear by my own feet! It's only by chasing about at your heels
that I've grown tired and weary.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._] What! is it possible that the idiot does not
understand when she says "You weary me"? [_Aloud._] Vasantasena,
your words have no place in the dwelling of a courtezan,

Which, as you know, is friend to every youth;
Remember, you are common as the flower
That grows beside the road; in bitter truth,
Your body has its price; your beauty's dower
Is his, who pa